Palisades

The pulpy emissaries arrived

And made themselves comfortable

Until they were not comfortable, and called

For me. I came, and met their demands

By chipping flecks from the settees, the fibers

Of the furniture

Going as mulchy as their occupants.

I was an adept hostess, covering all bases

Swirling through the kitchenette to coax canapés

From the tiny ovens

My guests rolled in concert to tour my estate

Liking the banners

Disliking the silence

Leaving their slopped castoffs in pools

For the heels of my Bergdorf-Goodman slingbacks

To drown in.

But I, ever confident, pursued the trend

Of whitewashing moments for company

And these unbaked ambassadors seemed to appreciate

The effort, if not the effect.

I knew not to be effusive

I knew to temper my sashays

They were traditional; they were ancient

So much depended on their conclusions

And collecting their runoff from the grooves

In my walls, on my floors.

I cultivated my carriage until they, at last, departed

Then my knees struck the ground, timed

With the shutting of my front gate

And I bent to begin licking up their refuse.